


Going for Gold

by Everlind



Series: Holiday Helltime [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Genital Piercing, Humanstuck, M/M, Oral Sex, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 12:57:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everlind/pseuds/Everlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John makes this <i>face</i>, the face that says: I have a dick up my ass for the first time and I don’t know how I feel about it. </p><p>You start laughing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going for Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RaffyCaffy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaffyCaffy/gifts).



 

_Out of our way now  
We're going for gold_  
_—Gabriel Rios, “Gold”_

 

 

 

You do, eventually, fuck John.

It’s a completely unremarkable day in March, a lost month falling in the gap between Valentine’s day and John’s birthday. The weather is godawful, this dreary miserable sludge that doesn’t even have the decency to call itself sleet as it slops against your windowpane in a half crumbling splatters.

John’s in your lap and kissing his way up your throat and it’d be absolutely perfect if it weren’t for that knit monstrosity leering at you with its demented googley eyes. Apparently John woke up this morning and decided that today is a Cookie Monster hat day. Joy.

You really need to have words with Lalonde, words that contain but are not limited to: stop giving my boyfriend ridiculous hand-knit gifts, because he doesn’t have the decency to laugh and hide it at the bottom of his wardrobe, he actually fucking wears it!

“I can’t kiss you with that hat,” you growl, grabbing his hips and tugging to sit him down on your thighs.

John pulls back, blinks. Cookie Monster stares down at you in reproach. “But this hat grants me my kissing powers,” John protests. As if to demonstrate he leans in to peck your face, quick and cheeky, and then again but longer, lingering, warm bursts of contact that drag towards your mouth. 

You stroke his cheekbones with your thumbs, waiting until he’s reached the corner of your mouth. That’s when you flick off his hat. It hits your knees before falling to the ground with a _whumph_. 

Instantly John’s mouth opens agains your cheek and his tongue comes out. _Drools_ , leaving a lake of saliva in his wake, complete with sound effect: “ _BLARGHHHH_.” 

On instinct you shove against his chest. There’s a moment of pure panic where John nearly overbalances, would hit the floor, hit his head —somehow you’ve got fistfuls of his shirt and are hauling him close with enough force you tilt the other way and hit the bed flat on your back with him sprawled across you.

“Fuck,” he gasps.

“You damn idiot,” you snarl.

John snickers into your neck. His pulse roars through his body, giddy with adrenaline.“I warned you about the hat, bro.”

“You could’ve broken your goddamn neck,” you tell him, smacking his shoulder with the flat of your palm, heart still racing. Mother of fuck, that was terrifying.

And he doesn’t fucking learn, does he? Because his mouth quirks impishly against your skin right before he blows a saliva-enriched raspberry. Alright. That’s it. You grab him.

A wrestling match ensues, John shrieking like a pig stuck on a fence as you get him under you. Hands go everywhere, slamming into your ribs and pushing at your shoulders. He’s strong and quick, but you’re heavier and somewhere in the middle of it all you begin to wonder if this isn’t exactly where he wants to be. Underneath you. You’re sure about it when he hooks a leg over your hip and lifts his body up against yours, a slow frazzle of clothes dragging together with hot skin underneath.

Still takes you off guard. Something about his back hollowing and his lips slackening makes your mouth go dry. It’s unmistakably sexual. So you freeze, and then he freezes because you froze, leaving you both staring like total idiots at each other decidedly _not_ moving because shit suddenly got real. Considering the reverse train wreck of your relationship with John, it’s pretty fucking hilarious this is as far as you’ve ever gone.

That’s right. Even though it all started off with a rousing game of ‘Who Will Fuck John Egbert?’ (complimentary Jeopardy tune and migraine included) —you still haven’t. 

Not that you’re complaining. Between kissing him, actual dates and John sleeping in your bed with you when he stays the night you’re pretty much overflowing with how great the past three months have been.

This, however, this you’ve both been avoiding. You’re not even sure why. Because hell if you don’t want to. You want to, you really fucking want to. Fuck him.

And. You think… John wants to, too.

Carefully you lower your weight across him, trying to ignore the low tug in you gut as your groin settles into the warm apex of his legs. There’s a flutter in John’s lashes and he bites his lower lip, but his eyes never leave yours as his other leg tucks neatly around your waist. You can feel the shape of his crotch, his cock.

He’s hard.

Shit. You bite your lip, swallow. Touch your nose against the tip of his to try draw his attention away from the throbbing between his legs. His eyes are bright and his cheeks pink. You tilt your head and slowly lean in until you see understanding settle on his face. His head goes the other way, and he closes the distance until your mouths meet.

You try for slow, you really do, but John’s just grabs two handfuls of your hair and his mouth folds open under yours wet and warm and willing. It’s easy to lick at him and his mouth sultry and soft, raising his tongue while you bite at his lower lip. John makes this _noise_ , and next thing you have half his ass in your palm to lift him against you good and close for more. Just. Just _more_.

Problem is that he gives back as good as you got, thighs squeezing your sides and and rocking up against you until you can feel his dick throb against yours through the seam of your jeans. He’s twisting your hair between his fingers and sucking your tongue languidly, like he has all damn day and nothing better to do than draw the taste of you into his mouth. It feels goddamn glorious while all he’s doing is holding you between his lips and suckling lightly.

And when he finally does release you it’s in this slow slide, lips dragging down the length of your tongue until he disconnects with a wet noise, licking his mouth. God, _shit_ , you close your eyes hard, trying your damn best not to think about his mouth on your dick like that.

Your voice’s gone low and husky when you whisper, “Okay, we… we need to slow down or I’m going to accidentally have sex with you,” close enough the words catch against his lips. Tuck his hair behind his ears, straighten his glasses for him, helplessly trying to restore the pace to something more familiar.

“Like how? I’ll trip and your dick will be there?” he retorts, warm against your cheek as he winds around you.

You note the ‘ _I_ trip and land on _your_ dick’. Hell, you’re noting it. You’re noting it so desperately you have composed a novel’s worth of pages and etched them to the back of your skull in blaring neon under a nanosecond.

Are you blushing? Oh no, you are, you so fucking are, you’re doing that ruddy dark thing like a dying tomato. Dammit.

John laughs a little, playfully worrying the curve of your overheated ears between his thumb and index. Adds a eyebrow waggle, because he’s a complete brat. Ugh. You bonk your foreheads together, hard enough to get an ‘ _ow hey_ ’ at first, then gentler, just leaning. “John,” you growl, “John, seriously. Do you want that? Do you want me to fuck you?” and you intend to add more to that, assurances that hey, you’re not expecting him to put out, honest, but you’re crazy turned on and the way he’s rutting against your dick is. not. helping. But then John suddenly goes slack, like a world of tension leaks out of him. Flops spreadeagled beneath you, and _laughs_.

“Yes, oh thank god, you finally _asked_ ,” he says, half laughing half relieved as he rubs at his face with an unsteady hand.

You frown, balance yourself on your elbows to properly loom over him. “Okay. Hang on. Excuse you?”

A blue eye peers at you from between fingers. “You asked. About the sex thing. I kind of didn’t dare to bring it up, you know?” No, no you don’t know. Your face seems to tell him as much. “I didn’t want you to feel like I was only doing the boyfriend thing on the off chance you’d eventually… uh.”

“Fuck you up the ass?” you finish for him rather pointedly. He’ll fellate your tongue but he can’t say buttsex without choking on it.

“Well… well yeah,” John murmurs, a long fingered hand distracted with a curl of your hair. “Because it’s not just about sex. You know that, right?”

Nobody can turn your spine to butter the way John does, giving you this wrenchingly adoring look while he strokes your hair. You’ve never doubted that (doubted him). Didn’t need to when you often wake in the night to the sensation of his lips in your hair and his arms around you. In retrospect it isn’t difficult to see the quest to find a dick to fit his butt for what it was. It was about _you_ specifically, something neither of you figured out at the get go because Dave booted him into the gay end of his bisexuality with no lifeguard on duty.

“Hmm,” you hum, and lean down to give him a chaste kiss. Stay there to murmur into his mouth: “But you want me to?” Not giving him time to nod, you grind down until you can feel the hard ridge of his erection catch along yours. It gets a gasp, has his spine curve, hollowing towards you because he wants more of that. It’s the best thing ever.

He’s breathing hard, eyes rolling back and moaning faintly. “John,” you prompt again. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes!” John chokes out, red from ears to neck. “Do you need a written invitation? All aboard the homo express? Warning; ass spelunking ahead? Open Sesame? Please do me up the butt, senpai? _Yes_ , Okay? Yes, I- _ah_!”

His voice gives out. Arms wrap around your shoulders desperately, fingers twisting into your shirt as you roll your hips downwards in earnest. After a moment he rocks back, hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence because it’s good enough you need to get away from his mouth and hide your face against his neck.

Taking it slow is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. You’ve been aching for him since you were kids, the first time you managed to wrangle an orgasm from your dick was to the idea of John and somehow, a decade later, here you are with him moaning your name. And he responds so readily, so _easily_ , it’s mildly terrifying. You have a handful of his flexing ass as he matches you, and you can barely stand to watch his flushed cheeks as he mouths damply at the seam of your lips, eyes gone half lidded.

You could get off like this, damn, you really could. John’s stopped kissing and is just sharing air with you and your back is screaming in protest at the added weight you’re holding up, but it’s almost too much and you haven’t even taken off his fucking shirt yet.

Speaking of which…

“John.” Kiss his jaw, his chin, his throat. Fight with the collar of his shirt to put a deep, sucking kiss on the ridge of his collarbone. “John, damn it, take off your clothes.”

Next thing you know you’re flinging your shirt aside, hands diving down to pop the button of your jeans and John is… John is a backwards imbecile. 

Nobody is surprised nowhere, least of all you, who grew up with him. Still can’t help but stare at him in consternation.

Who the fuck takes his pants and boxers off _first_ and his shirt last? He’s seen those movies with you, he should fucking know how it goes, it shouldn’t require a damn flowchart. Yeah, okay, not complaining, John’s not ripped or anything, but the flex of his body as he peels his shirt off has the muscles in his side shifting and laddering deliciously as his arms go up- oh damn, mouthwatering, oh hey wait whoa no 

— _smack_! 

In attempting to toss his shirt away with a flourish he literally punches you in the mouth. Bull’s eye, _bam_ , knuckle sandwich. You sit down on your ass, hard. Clap both hands over your face.

John goes: “Oh shit.”

“FUCK.” 

“Oh damn.”

“ _John_.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Fuuuuuuck,” you groan, hesitantly peeling your fingers away and inspecting them. No blood. Still stings like a bitch though. Brat’s got an impressive right hook, damn it. “There goes my boner,” you grind out. 

That makes his face _fall_ like the flagging of your erection is a goddamn tragedy. You almost feel guilty even though it was _him_ who clocked you in the damn face. Almost, and then not at all because John adds insult to injury by executing the least sexy hand-to-penis touch ever. Pokes it. Your dick. With his index. 

_Prod_. 

“Lair liar pants on fire,” he chants and you glare at him.

“I’ll set you on fire,” you counter. “Why am I trying to have sex with you again, exactly?”

“Caaaaaaaause you think I’m hot stuff?”

“You will be as soon as I find a flamethro— _ow_ ER!!” 

Okay he’s touching you. Properly. Your jeans are hanging open, framing your erection rather prominently, and John is stroking the pad of his thumb along you. It’s featherlight, but the natural whorls of his skin catch on the threads of light cotton, sending barely-there grating shivers through your cock that have your mouth dropping open.

John Egbert is touching your dick.

You’re totally blushing again.

He’s just… just feeling you, first time touching a dick that’s not his and he looks more curious than anything. That is until he finds the barbell of your piercing. You almost crack up at the way he startles. Got to hand it to him, John is the first not to be swooning over it, just sits there studying the outline with an abstracted look. 

“Okay so… if you take it out does it heal?” he wants to know. Both of you stare at your crotch.

Good question. You have no fucking clue? “I’m not sure,” you admit wryly. Other piercings tend to heal nicely, but this is a bar of metal through the most sensitive part of your dick. Maybe you should google it. “Would you like me to?” you ask, because it’s not like you're overly attached to your dick bling or anything. It was just there one morning, accompanied by the hangover of a life time.

“No! No, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” he blurts a little too quickly, going pink around the edges, ears included. Urgh, cute. Makes you want to nibble on them. “Just wondering whether I needed to have a talk with Meenah about putting extra holes in you.”

“Last time you had a—aaaa” —God that feels nice— “talk with Meenah she nearly skinned you.”

Big frown. “I can handle Meenah,” he mutters, even as he traces the tip of your dick, thumbing at the second barbell, where it’s notched under the heavy ridge of your cockhead.

“Great! Good for you. Can we stop talking about Meenah now?”

“Sure thing, dude! If you take off your pants,” John counters cheerfully.

“Deal,” you blurt, doing exactly that.

That first instant of your bare bodies touching nearly does you in. John’s just sliding skin against you and embracing you, both of you kneeling, and already you can feel those primal tingles prickling at the root of your dick. It’s too much, too sudden, his chest against yours and his hard cock catching against your thigh hot and sticky slick, so you open your mouth on the fleshy juncture of his neck and bite him to stave off your orgasm.

John bares his throat, presenting the whole of his throat for you to lavish attention to -which you do, flattening your tongue against the pulse point, feeling out the ragged edge to his exhales with your teeth. In the wake of your mouth his flesh tightens, goosebumps, and blowing air lightly has him shiver deliciously. The both of you bump heads, you nearly dislodge his glasses, so you set them aside. John’s pupils are blown, but now his eyes are smoky and downright challenging. Your face is hot, and your arms are full of wanting boy, and damn if you’re not going to give him exactly what he wants and then some.

No need to hurry, though. Not when you have plenty to look at. 

You look him up and down, unabashed just because you fucking can ( _your_ boyfriend, your _boyfriend_ ). Your eyes catch on his flushed face, his fantastic collarbone bracketing the width of his shoulders, the way the keel of his ribs will shadow into existence as he breathes, the swell of his thighs as he settles down to kneel between your own parted legs. Admire the thick curve of John’s cock at leisure. You knew it’d be pretty spectacular from the sweatpants peepshow, but _damn_. That’s a pretty dick. You stoke him approvingly with your knuckles, loving the hitching gasp John makes, before taking hold of him properly.

Stroke him, slowly, just enjoying the solid feeling of him, the soft texture of the delicate skin, the barely there thrumming. Your other hand settles high on his ribs, thumb settling near his nipple, keeping him steady.

John goes ah. Then aa- _aaaah_ louder, like you’re hurting him. Know you’re not, his fingers are clamped around the nape of your neck to keep you close. His eyes are on your hand working steadily at his dick, mouth slack and parted. Ever so often his lashes flutter rapidly, like he needs to clear his vision, like it’s hard for him to believe it’s happening. You press your thumb into the wetness at the tip and his whole body hitches in response. He moans again, softly, and they’re pained sounding, vulnerable sort of noises. Pitiful noises.

You keep it up until you can see the whole of his body tense up, shivery with anticipation, as he fucks himself into your hand, hips rising in needy jerks to work himself towards that first edging of orgasm. Its so fucking tempting to keep going, he looks fantastic and you want to see all of it, want to see him break over the pleasure and feel him throb in your hand. Instead you kiss his cheek, hand stilling, but keeping his dick cradled in your palm.

“Want me to let you come? We don’t have to fuck the first time.”

“I’m going to h-hit you,” John warns, breathless and thick and hitching as you pass the pad of your thumb across his nipple, rolling pressure against it until it tightens.

“Or you could fuck me.”

“Me _first_ ,” he insists, in this bossy tone suggesting he’s completely prepared to just push you down and climb you like a felled tree. Also he’s making it quite clear by mounting your thigh and sliding his dick across it.

Okay, that’s distracting. He’s such a handful.

“Your wish is my command,” you say dryly. John doesn’t even bother to hide his fist pump. You shake your head a little. “You’re such a dork.”

“Nerd.”

“Crotchboil.”

“Ass vomit.”

“Come here.”

He does.

It takes some shifting to settle into the pillows against the headboard, John comfortably sprawling down on top of you, overheated and surprisingly heavy. It’s not that he’s small or anything, in fact he’s pretty average, if lanky. You’re just big. There’s time to kiss him, time to stroke your palms down his shoulder blades, the pert curve of his ass, the tops of his thighs, play with his hair and even smile stupidly at each other for no reason other than you’re naked together and it’s pretty awesome. 

You’re in love with John, and you almost forget you’re supposed to take this quest right up to the end boss. It’s just so nice to kiss and look at him and touch his mouth with yours. 

John reminds you by dragging your dicks together, hips rocking in a slow sway as he dips his tongue between your parting lips.

Lube. You find it. Hitch him closer, higher up your chest, squeeze one of his buttocks in warning before actually dipping your fingers along the cleft of his ass. Rub the pad of your index against the tightly closed opening, just grazing. This is familiar territory for the both of you, but it’s the first time _you’re_ doing this to _him_. John groans into your neck, face hot.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, top of his head jostling your chin as he nods.

Alright. You push, and he gives. His back goes tense -surprise-, you wait. John exhales hot agains your skin, hisses _ah fuck_ , and shudders from his bones up. The angle of your wrist isn’t ideal, you can’t really put pressure where you want, so you just work up to another, stroking the two slowly back and forth against the cling of his body. Add a third, and John fails not to moan. It’s all you can do but bite your already sore lips because he’s tight and searing and yours. 

His hips seem undecided between getting closer to your dick or closer to the fingers pumping into his ass, and he’s gnawing on your shoulder hard enough you know it’ll show for weeks. It’s so worth it for how he’s squirming and pushing back to get you deeper, and then rutting up against you like he’s trying to climb into your body and curl up in your chest. Like holding live wire in your arms. 

“Okay, I’m—“ he trails off. “I think. I’m. Yeah.”

“Eloquent.”

“Fuck you.”

“You first,” you counter, pulling your fingers out and rolling away to reach for the condoms.

It forces him over you on his knees while you stretch out underneath him, and just as you’re blindly grasping for the slick wrapper John curls down and licks your dick. 

You jump about a goddamn _mile_. Can only stare as he tongues at the barbells, the unyielding shift of the metal sending curious jolts of pleasure through you even as he curls his softly textured tongue against it, warm and wet. Can only groan as his lips part over the heavy head to let it slide over his tongue. Just laps and sucks.

You’re… fuck he’s licking along your shaft, you’re gonna— “John!” you grab his jaw and pry him out of your crotch before you blow your load.

John grins, licks his lips. Showily. Any other time it’d be fucking ridiculous, but with his exhales still stirring damp against the tip of your dick it’s just maddening.

You shove the condoms in his face in response. 

He rolls one down over your dick, puzzling for a moment to get it down over the piercing. You reach down to help him and make the mistake of looking at him. Try to swallow your fucking heart back down at the sight of John kneeling over you, naked, hair on end and highlighted by the lazy pulsing of your fairy lights in the dark winter gloom. The makeshift canopy is half closed, creating a little hollow for you both. 

Both of you look at each other, made easier by how you’re half propped up. You nod. He nods, looking a lot more nervous, but smiling, too, like he really wants this, wants you, and has wanted it for a while.

Damn it, why are your hands so clumsy now, of all times? You’re supposed to know what you’re doing, it’s how it all started, but you’re shaking from emotion and you so badly want this to be good for him. It’s John. It’s John and it’s your first time together and if you fuck this up you’re never forgiving yourself.

You paw stupidly at his hip, position him over you with one hand as the other steadies your cock for him. He leans hard on your chest, fingers pale stars against your dark skin, lowers himself until there’s pressure. There’s a little too much lube, a trickle of it runs down your wrist. You bite the inside of your cheek, hard, and nearly bleed yourself as the fat ridge of your cock slips inside, as well as the first barbell.

John makes this _face_ , the face that says: I have a dick up my ass for the first time and I don’t know how I feel about it. 

You start laughing.

He _thwaps_ your chest with his hand, but gives a soundless huff as well, mouth twitching. 

It takes him a while, but you just about die at how his hips cant instinctively halfway down to take you better, his head hanging heavy between his shoulders as he braces on your chest. You watch the deep hollows of his thighs where they join into his pelvis, rub the hard point of his hip with your thumb. Then, finally, he’s there, quivering.

“Hey,” you grit out.

“Shit,” he exhales, the word drawing out with a hiss, head tipping back and lashes fluttering at the feeling of your cock seated inside him. “I can feel—hm…“ he doesn’t finish, just licks his lips.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything as beautiful as this, and not because he’s on your dick, but the way he shines in the dreary light, the brightness of his eyes and tenseness in his biceps. The slight, satisfied curl to his mouth, the way he experimentally rolls his pelvis. That’s for you, only for you, god please, you don’t think you can ever give this up, not after this, John, John on who you drew the shapes of his bones, and organs, and major blood vessels, shirtless on your bed and giggle snorting because the pen tickled, and who steals your cereal and and the sheets and moans your goddamn name like you’re the best thing ever, he looks so good, and you almost want to punish him for the way he’s ruining you, he’s dangerous, why did you end up liking him?

“Haha, oh wow Karkat, what was that?” he snickers, still rolling his hips, starting to learn how to move, shit he’s so tight, he _hurts_.

“What?” you manage, preoccupied by palming two handfuls of his ass to help him rock.

“… porque something something gostar de você?” he repeats, then smiles at your embarrassment. Stops moving long enough to meet you for a kiss. “I like you, too,” he murmurs.

_Like_ , he says, but it tastes thicker, rounder, making your throat go tight.

You put your arms around him.

You fuck him like that, John graduating from shallow hitches to longer strokes, buttocks tightening in your hands and it feels so close, curling towards each other intimate and warm and kissing lightly. Down the line of your body you can see your cock slide in and out of him, fuck, it’s _good_ , it’s too _much_ , you groan, surge up in him, get a muffled response as he smothers it against the corner of your mouth. He’s breathing open-mouthed, going faster, knows enough from playing with himself what he wants, but not how to get there, and can see him break away from gradually increasing pleasure to desperation, thighs shaking and face scrunching around frustration. “Damn it,” he hisses, and his shoulders hitch around the word. “Dammit, I-I I’m sorry, can’t— shit.”

“Wait, shh, here,” you reach for him, and he scrabbles with sharp fingers at your arms as you help him turn over. “I got you.”

Push him sideways, straddle the inside of his thigh and slide back in. 

“Ah, fuck,” he moans, head dropping back and hand going to his cock.

It’s murder on your back, but you can control the angle of how you work yourself inside of him and you must be getting it right, he’s groaning softly with every downstroke, “Karkat,” he manages, urgently. “There _there_ don't stop don’tstopfuck don’t—”

“You’re really into this, huh,” you manage from between gritted teeth, rolling your hips in tight circles. “Shit. John, you like being fucked.” John gives a soft moan, face reddening, but he’s dribbling precome down over his own shaft.

You’ve thought about this. But, _fuck_ , you’ve thought about this, this right here, oh wow. You palm the back of his thigh and push his leg higher to spread him, he curses, and you feel hot and thick with him clenching around you like that, you’re so fucking close, it’ll be good, you can tell, the pleasure is heavy and deep and razor edged with the need to just fill him up—

John first, _John first_.

If you fuck him harder you’ll hurt him, and he’s pretty much boneless already, sex dazed and body swaying with your thrusts, stroking his own dick, so you go “Hey,” until he manages to look at you.

John’s mouth is sensitive. Obviously, but you’ve seen how worked up he gets from kissing, from being touched and caressed and tasted. You’re too far away for that, so you use the fingers of the hand that wasn’t up his ass a moment ago. His lips are slick and soft and swollen, you caress them with your thumb, slide it along the seam of his lips, teasing at the fullness of his bottom lip until he parts his mouth so you can stroke his tongue. You allow yourself to think about your dick in there and keeping it there.

His orgasm takes him as much by surprise as it does you, you can tell by the way he actually cries out before the sound falls into something unabashedly loud and gorgeous as the first shivering pulse hits him. You don’t quite hit your own, not yet, just sort of tremble at the edge until John helps you by grinding back into you, giving more force, more friction to your thrusts.

When your climax hits you, it hits hard, in sweet jarring sweeps that force more sound from you as you greedily gather him closer, pressing as deep as you can. His pinky is curled around your index. It's completely fucking glorious.

Your throat is raw and your mind hazy, buzzing and far-off lost between the clouds. Your body gives a little aftershock and then you’re slumping over, shaking as the strength leaves you.

John’s stomach is wet with his release and your sheets are ruined. Lips form small half-kisses against the joint of your thumb, still smeared across his mouth. Light blooms gold at the edges of your vision, bright like sunbursts. Everything smells of sex.

“Heavy,” John complains, all raw-throated.

“Sorry.” Wow, is that your voice? You struggle up.

John goes _hng_ when you pull out of him, you hissing at the feel of cool air against wet flesh. You hurry to deal with the condom, hands stupid and fumbling. Settle down at his front, bones sinking into the yielding mattress like lead. Instantly John pushes his hands into your hair and cuddles up against you, basically gluing your bellies together with his jizz. Lovely. 

Everything seems to thrum to the beat of your heart, or maybe his, he’s so close you can see his pulse jump under his skin. Outside the downpour has finally decided on sleet, pattering against the window in thick streaks. John breathes against your throat. He’s very quiet.

“John?” you whisper, his name coming small and shaky as you lift his face with clumsy post-coital hands. There's a suspicious shine to his eyes. Your breath goes backwards.

“Hi,” he answers, squirming up to nose against your cheekbone. _Ohthankgod_. “Worrying is not allowed during the afterglow,” he informs you sleepily.

“I’m not-“ you begin reflexively, and he nips at your bottom lip, which turns into a lingering kiss, close-mouthed but heated. You shut up, gathering him close for more of that, pause just to breathe together, and then finding his mouth again, and again until your lips are so swollen and sensitive they feel numb. “It’s just. Was it as” -another kiss- “as… what you expected?”

For the longest time he doesn’t say anything, and he’s too close to properly read his face, but then he murmurs: “Better,” and tightens his arms around you, covering your face in small, smiling kisses.

You totally do not grin. You’re not proud of yourself. You’re being totally mature about this. Totally. You just fucked your childhood boy crush and he liked it. You hide your face in his disastrous hair so nobody can see you smile.

John chuckles. “The operation was a success, nurse Vantas. Well done.” Gives your ass an approving pat, shoulders shaking with incoming glee.

You pinch his. “No anal probe jokes from you.” You cap the reprimand off with a kiss to the top of his head.

“I would never,” he lies. 

Tracing his spine with a knuckle, you can feel him smother a yawn against your skin -a burst of hot air and smooshed lips as he nuzzles against the swell of your pectoral. About to doze off, it seems. You kiss the crown of his head again.

But then: “Karkat?”

“Hm.”

“I’m glad it happened when it happened. You know?”

Classic senseless John speak. “…what?”

“I mean like now, and not before,” he admits, breathing shakily as his kneads between your shoulder blades, stroking the blind spot until you shiver.

Oh. Wait, he wants to have this conversation _now_?

“You kind of scared the everliving shit out of me,” you tell him, and it’s true. John hunches a little, head ducking down. You scritch at the soft hairs in his nape, cup him close. “I wanted to,” you admit. “Despite knowing better I really fucking wanted to. I’ve had a crush on you for years, you insufferable barfsock, despite your best efforts at being a complete pest.”

John breathes out, hard, and you understand that he never knew. What an idiot. You, too, for that matter. 

“I’m such an idiot,” John says.

“True,” you agree.

“ _Dude_!” He elbows you, half-hearted. “It was like I never even realized it could be an option, you know? I never thought about it, and then suddenly I couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it! And you my best friend. My totally hot best friend. That I might want touch in a super homosexual way. So confusing.” 

“And we all know that dried-up braincell of yours is too emotionally retarded to cope with more than one concept at the time,” your grumble against his forehead. “Lucky I am smart enough for us both,” you say, like the complete hypocrite you are, because you were freaking out just as spectacularly as he was. 

You totally get points for kissing him first, though.

“Hey,” you mumble, running a hand down his back until you can rest your palm over the curve of his ass. Squeeze it a little. “Was the super homosexual touching okay? You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he tells you, squirming around in your embrace until you’re the big spoon. Belly to back and close. There’s going to be half dried sperm everywhere at this rate. Too tired to really care though, with his bare ass in your lap and your lips on his shoulder. 

“So.” John pipes up. “Did you want me to super homosexually touch you later?”

“…you can stop saying super homosexual now,” you grumble, lacing your fingers with his over his beat of his heart. “And yeah, I’d like that.”

_A lot_.

“I’m going to super homosexually touch you so hard, Karkat,” John vows. “So. _hard_.”

…he’s basically promising to fuck you through the mattress. Your cheeks heat up as though scalded even as your treacherous dick gives a hard throb of interest against John’s tailbone. John’s cheek bunches up in a smile, feeling it. He’s still holding your hand against his chest, tracing your knuckles idly. It’s sticky, and hot despite the season, John’s skin all glued against yours because he’s freshly fucked. 

John lies in your arms slack and sated, yet already rearing for round two. You think of the way he’d said _I like you, too_ and wonder if this right here, the two of you smelling of sex on a rainy day in March, might just be the beginning of forever.

 

_-fin-_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I've had this sitting on my desktop for AGES, but here it is, at long last.
> 
> My thanks to mangalho on tumblr and xenophilesdoitfreaky for helping me with the Brazilian Portuguese.  
> Porque é que eu fui gostar de você? // Why did I end up liking you?
> 
> Kudos and comments are intensely appreciated!


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